


And Side By Side We're Different (But Somehow The Same)

by MegsWrites



Series: When It Comes To Us [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, a little bit of softness before it all goes to hell, more feelings than talking, sorta - Freeform, they really need to talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-28 04:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18748660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegsWrites/pseuds/MegsWrites
Summary: It takes weeks for her to admit to herself that she’s deeply happy.





	And Side By Side We're Different (But Somehow The Same)

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of a sort. Ugh. I have a lot of feelings you guys.

It takes weeks for her to admit to herself that she’s deeply happy. That its ok to be so.

That first night, a haze of wine and pleasure and disbelieving joy, couldn’t last forever. Even as his lips trailed a scorching line down her body she knows it wont last. She’s seen what adrenaline and survival against the odds and feasts could do to a person, things declared in the heat of battle very rarely stand up against the light of day. She knows the score, weighs the outcomes, decides a moment with him will be worth the heartbreak later, and kisses him like the world is ending. 

Except the world isn’t ending. She wakes up the next morning, mouth sour and stomach queasy with too much wine, body still tender from the weight of his, the healing wound in her side throbbing gently. She turns her head and astoundingly Jaime Lannister is still in her bed. She watches him quietly for a long moment, the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, the lines time and trouble have begun to carve into his beautiful face, one hand flung out towards her on top of the furs. When she can stand the ache in her heart no longer she leans forward and kisses him softly. He stirs in her arms, eyes fluttering open, surprised at first and then full of so much affection she can’t believe he’s looking at her. They kiss for a long time without speaking then he draws her out of the warmth of the bed and they get ready to face the day. 

She loses track of him halfway through the morning, she has meetings to attend with Lady Sansa and he’s helping with the cleanup around the castle. Its harder than she expects, they’ve been no more than ten feet apart for the better part of the last week, she keeps looking across the room expecting to find him there. She’s held up in strategy meetings until well past sunset. The mood had not been particularly good in the chamber and the thought of having to go sit in the great hall with all that tension still lingering in the air is a little overwhelming. She knows she’s still healing too, her strength not quite what it should be yet, so she begs leave of Lady Stark to take her dinner in her chambers. Sansa agrees with an odd quirk of her lips that Brienne decides not to examine too deeply. All she wants in the world is some quiet. She’s unbuckling her sword belt as she enters so it takes her a moment to see the tableau before her. The little table usually regulated to the side of the room has been tucked in front of the fire with its two chairs on either side. A simple meal is waiting there and Jaime is curled at the foot of the bed, back leaning against the wall, watching her over the top of a book. 

“You’re here.” She says somewhat stupidly. He sets the book aside and smiles at her, its hesitant and searching.

“I am. Is that OK?” He asks softy.

“Yes.” She says, and this time when he smiles at her its full and open and she realizes she’s never see that particular expression on his face before. The thought makes her warm down to her toes. 

“When I didn’t see you in the Hall I thought you might be hungry when you got back.” He moves to stand but she motions for him to stay put. She leans her sword next to his, pulls off her over tunic and kicks off her boots before snagging the plate of bread and cheese off the table along with the wineskin and two earthen cups. She balances the plate on the bed before moving to sit beside him, angling her legs so that their shoulders touch even with the food between them. She hands him a cup, filling it before filling her own and setting the skin aside. 

They eat in silence for a few minutes before she says, 

“How was your day?” And then he tells her, and she listens while she watches his long fingers pull tiny bits of bread off the loaf. He tells her about the repairs that are already underway, about the plans to shore up the outer wall, how much of it will have to wait until spring. She tells him about the reports on the wellbeing of the troops, how news from a few of holds between Winterfell and the wall has proved more of the North survived the onslaught than was first imagined. They avoid discussion of the capital, the Iron Fleet, or Queen Cersei. She knows they’ll have to talk about it sometime, but they’re so comfortable this way she’s willing to wait. 

She’s not sure when they settle into a real routine. She looks up from her desk nearly three weeks after the battle and watches Jaime working on his left handed penmanship and realizes this is her life now. Work with Lady Stark in the mornings, work in the training yards in the afternoon, evenings with Jaime. Sometimes they eat in the Hall with the others, sometimes here together in her room. Their room. Its such a strange thought it makes her laugh. He looks up from his paper, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“What?” He asks. In answer she gets up and crosses to the table so she can lean down and kiss him. He leans up into her, his fingers landing on her hip, tugging her forward. She’s almost entirely healed by now, but his touch is still so gentle as he slides his hand up under her tunic and along the bare skin of her side. She decides she’s not in the mood for gentle tonight and nudges him to scoot the chair back so she can straddle his hips, her hands tugging at the lacings of his shirt. Neither of them get any more work done that night. 

As the days go by it gets easier to believe they’ll always be this way, that the thing she’s been holding at arms length her entire life is really, truly, within her grasp. Its not perfect. There are still things she’s afraid to ask him, conversations she doesn't know how to begin. There are still nights when she can feel him start to drift, the shadows in his eyes deepening into something like despair before he pulls her to the bed and curls into her arms like a man seeking shelter from the storm. All she can do is kiss his hair and whisper his name and try to remember that there are things neither of them knows how to say to the other yet. That it will take time. Even on the nights when its hard she’s happier than she’s ever been, serving her lady, watching Podrick come more into his own every day, holding hands with Jaime under the table at meals. Its not perfect. It is all she needs. 

Death may still be coming for them, this small pocket of peace can’t last forever, but for now she’ll hold on to the feeling of being right where she belongs, she’ll guard it like a treasure in her heart. For now that will have to be enough.


End file.
